A blog about things -- not necessarily beautiful -- that at least jolted me out of my tram-lined train of thought. They may be funny, poignant, disgusting or beautiful, but they will be personal. You, dear reader, may not give a damn about an image of a crisp packet at the edge of a river but I might think it so delightful that I cry with gratitude. And a few poems. A a book plug or two.

Tuesday, 5 January 2016

Even the Holes

“Why are all the
windows different?” Bernie rotated on the spot, pointing out the
features. “That one's stone framed, that one's leaded, that one's
stained glass, but in a completely different style.”

“This is an artisan's
workshop, or it was, once.” Bryn rubbed a spot of rust from a stove
so ancient it looked as if it hadn't been touched since the turn of
the century. “It would have started off as one room, perhaps with a
loft for the family to sleep in, then as the years passed, the house
grew an extra room and the builder would add his own touches to
display his ability to customers.” He stepped over to the stone
window, reminiscent of a church nave. “This is the oldest,
indicating a stonemason built the original building, then the place
was a smithy, then a glass craftsman's.”

“And now it's an
odd-jobbing builder's.” Bernie grinned, linking her arm into his to
show she was only teasing. “So what will your addition be? Plastic
framed double glazing?”

“Dunno about the
plastic frames but I'm going to double glaze everything.” He put
his hand to the window. “It's the middle of a sunny day and there's
ice forming on the inside.”

“That's because the
house was built upon an ancient portal to Annwyn.”

“To where, now?”

“The Underworld.”

“Ah.” Bryn
scuffed at the stone flags with his boot. “Vampires and shit.”